


Watch and Wait

by pulpriter



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 02:29:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6734293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pulpriter/pseuds/pulpriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A watch as the source of unhappy times</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dot

**Author's Note:**

> Angst? Fluff? Angstfluff? I don’t know, you be the judge.  
> See the end notes for more about the origin of this piece.  
> I don’t own these characters. If I did, maybe they’d behave better for me. They just run wild all over the place.

The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher wafted down the front stairs of her bijou house at an unusually early hour, humming to herself. Mr. Butler and Dot were busy in the kitchen. Both were surprised by Miss Fisher’s appearance at this time of the morning, although Mr. Butler had an inkling what might have brought on her happy mood. He had seen to the refreshments in the parlour last evening while Miss Fisher entertained the Inspector. He had also seen the familiar hat and topcoat hanging on the hall tree early when he went to collect the milk, although they had disappeared when next he looked.  
“Good morning, all!” Phryne sang.  
“Good morning, Miss,” Mr. Butler said with a tactful smile.  
“Good morning,” Dot said, puzzled.  
Phryne tucked into her breakfast with pleasure. She glanced at the morning newspaper. She gazed out the window. She did it all with a vague sort of smile on her face.  
After a while, she stood and stretched, and said, “I believe I’ll go get dressed.” Dot stood to follow and assist.  
As they entered the boudoir, Dot began pulling the bed together. It was suspiciously disheveled. Dot hadn’t realized anyone had spent the night—it had been a long time since Dot had noticed the signs of a man in Miss Fisher’s bedroom. She was a bit disappointed; she had thought that Miss Fisher was showing signs of attachment to Inspector Robinson, who seemed like a man she could depend on, as opposed to some of the silly men who had been in and out of the house when Dot first came on staff. But perhaps it wasn’t to be: the Inspector, for all that he was attracted to Miss Fisher, would probably do better with someone less…frivolous? Fancy free? Fickle? 

She knew what Hugh thought about it. “I don’t think she’s right for the Inspector,” he would say. “He’s not in the least fly-by-night, or careless like some of those rich men she carries on with. Now don’t get me wrong, Dottie, I like her, I really do; but you know how much Inspector Robinson has done for me. He taught me everything I know, and we are both in his debt for getting me this promotion, so we could get married.” They would smile happily at each other, and then Hugh would continue, “When I first met the Inspector, he was suffering through difficult times with his wife. He’s not the kind to be able to take that lightly. I don’t want to see him miserable like that again.”  
So—perhaps it was better if Miss Fisher went on her merry way with other men. 

No sooner had that thought crossed her mind than Dot noticed the wristwatch left behind on the nightstand. She could hardly fail to recognize it. Hugh had one just like it—one was issued to every officer at City South. Hugh’s was fairly shiny and new. This one was worn, as if it belonged to someone who had been a member of the force for many years.

Miss Fisher had been contemplating the contents of her closet, but was no closer to deciding what to wear than when she walked into the room. It had to be just right, today. The morning was slipping away, and she still hadn’t gotten downtown to see Jack…She turned to see Dot looking at her very oddly. “What is it, Dot?”  
“Nothing, Miss,” Dot said, trying to cover up, and knowing she wouldn’t be able to. Despite herself, her eyes went to the wristwatch. Phryne followed her gaze and found the incriminating item at once.  
“Oh,” Phryne said. She didn’t want to give too much away, and part of her had wanted to keep her liaison with Jack private for the time being; but it was not to be.  
“Does that watch belong to the Inspector?” Dot asked bluntly.  
“Yes.” There was no point trying to hide it, apparently.  
Dot bit her lip.  
Phryne had never asked Dot an opinion about a man who stayed before, and she didn’t know why she wanted to now; but she said, “You don’t seem to approve.”  
“He’s different from the other men you’ve had here.”  
Phryne was taken aback by this straightforward remark, but answered it honestly. “Yes. He is.”  
“Please don’t –” Dot started softly.  
“Don’t what?” Phryne wasn’t sure why she asked, and yet she couldn’t stop herself.  
“It’s just—” Dot paused, and then she said, “It’s really none of my business. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She looked toward the closet. “Have you selected something to wear, or shall I help?”  
Phryne was glad that Dot didn’t meet her eyes. “I think I’ve changed my mind—I’ll just…take a little nap. Getting up so early, you know. I’ll be down later.”  
“Miss—I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry,” Dot apologized.  
“Nonsense. It’s fine,” Phryne said. Dot could hear that it was not fine, not at all, but she knew she had been dismissed for the moment. 

Mr. Butler was surprised to see Dot come downstairs without Miss Fisher, and he said so. “Oh, Mr. Butler, I’ve really put my foot in my mouth,” she said regretfully. He merely looked questioningly at her, so she said in a very low voice, “I found a man’s wristwatch upstairs, and I said something I shouldn’t have.”  
“Oh, my,” Mr. Butler said. “Did you—recognize the watch?”  
“Yes. Did you know--?”  
“Yes.” Nothing beyond this shorthand was needed.  
Dot went on. “I should have kept my mouth shut, but you know Hugh thinks the world of him, and doesn’t want to see him hurt, and—I’m afraid I made it clear that I didn’t approve.”  
“Oh, Dorothy.” Mr. Butler sighed. He thought highly of the Inspector, as well, but wasn’t as inclined as Miss Fisher’s companion to expect the worst. “You meant well, I’m sure, but I can’t imagine Miss Fisher felt very happy about that.”  
“No. I apologized, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.”


	2. Aunt Prudence

Phryne sat unhappily huddled in the middle of her bed. It was her own fault, for pressing Dot for her opinion. She didn’t need Dot to finish her thought; Phryne could finish it for her, easily enough. “Don’t—” Don’t hurt him. Don’t mistreat him. Don’t be careless with him. Don’t, don’t, don’t…So this was what Dot thought of her. Phryne didn’t like it. 

She rolled the wristwatch over and around in her hands, thinking of its owner. Memories flooded in of a day when he glanced at it carefully to make sure he was off the clock, then agreed to share a drink with her: the first of many, so many. On that day, he had gone out on a limb for her, getting approval for Jane to become her ward. He clearly had his doubts, but had decided to take a chance on her. He would probably never know what that had meant to her; and little did either of them imagine where that first drink together would lead.  
At long last, after much pondering, Phryne dressed and came back downstairs, but made a great show of being occupied with a book. Dot made a few attempts to mend fences, but eventually gave up trying to talk to her and set to doing some mending. 

Phryne was gazing blindly out the big window in the parlour when Mr. Butler announced that Mrs. Stanley had come to visit. “Oh, Aunt P. Hello,” Phryne said with a distinct lack of interest.  
“Well!” No one was better at being affronted than Prudence Stanley. “What has gotten into you today?”  
“Oh, I…I’m out of sorts.”  
Prudence misunderstood, and prescribed firmly, “Some nice chamomile tea and a warm water bottle on the abdomen always did wonders for me.”  
This did catch Phryne’s wandering attention. “Oh, no, it’s not…I just…” She didn’t know how to explain.  
“Well, whatever is bothering you, at least it’s preventing you from running all over town with Inspector Robinson,” Prudence pronounced.  
Phryne blinked at the irony of what her aunt had said. She tried to set the record straight. “Aunt P, I’m a detective. And you of all people should know how well Jack and I work together. At Queenscliff, and the Christmas in July party, and when the psychiatrists took over your house—what would you have done if he and I hadn’t helped find the guilty parties?”  
Prudence pursed her lips. “How well the two of you work together! Yes, the two of you together: that’s all I hear these days. Honestly, Phryne! Your feelings for that policeman are written all over your face! You really must put a stop to it.”  
“Aunt Prudence! I—”  
“Phryne.” Aunt Prudence spoke more gently, in a way that suggested some sympathy for the Inspector. “He doesn’t fit into our world, whatever we may think about him. He has helped me, and he was very kind to Arthur; but you know it isn’t suitable. Wouldn’t it be kinder to put an end to it now?” Prudence straightened her posture. “You know you’ll soon find someone else and something else to take the place of this detective business. You’ve always flitted from one thing to another! It would be better to make a clean break, before he gets too attached.”  
Prudence saw the stricken expression on Phryne’s face and wondered if she had gone too far. Well, no matter, what was said was said; and someone needed to say it. Perhaps a change of subject was in order. “Now I’ve come to ask your help with the benefit luncheon,” Prudence began.  
“Benefit luncheon? Oh, Aunt P, not now,” Phryne said, trying to excuse her utter lack of interest in any luncheon.  
“These things are important, Phryne. We have a responsibility to those who are less fortunate than we are. They need our help. It is very serious business,” Aunt Prudence finished resolutely.  
Phryne sighed. “I don’t feel like playing the lady of the manor today,” she said sadly.  
Aunt Prudence was having none of it. “I beg your pardon! ‘Playing’ is hardly the word. You _are_ the lady of the manor, my girl, and you must live up to your position.” She peered at her niece. “Phryne, you act as if you’re in another world. Are you going to help me with this or not?”  
“I was in another world, for a little while,” Phryne whispered. “But now I’m back in this one, and I’m not sure I like it any more.”  
Prudence found herself at the end of her patience with Phryne’s odd behaviour. “I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours.” She stood up abruptly in a way that conveyed great annoyance. “I can see I won’t get anywhere with you today. I’ll call on you another time. I hope I will find you in a better frame of mind the next time I stop by.”  
She swept out of the parlour, irritation surrounding her like a stormcloud. 

Still in her place in the parlour, Phryne stared into space. Aunt Prudence had certainly been plainspoken about Jack.  
But why should it bother Phryne? She had spent years flouting convention. Why should she care what anyone thought?  
Because there was someone else who could get hurt. Because Jack deserved better than that. Because he was a very good man who deserved…more than she had to offer. 

What could she do now? After last night…oh, last night. He was as wonderful as she had hoped. They had loved, but more than that, they had laughed. It was so rich with him, such a promise fulfilled; so different than the one-night stands that she had chosen for so long, precisely because they were meaningless and would not last.  
Was Aunt Prudence right? Would Phryne soon find herself bored, and flit away from what she had with Jack? They had danced around this for so long—was it merely the thrill of the chase that had kept Phryne in the game? Would she soon tire of him?  
If she walked away now, what would she lose? 

She was overwhelmed by the feeling that what she would lose was beyond measure.


	3. Mac

Phryne’s introspection was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. It was Mac.   
“Why are you at home?” Mac asked bluntly.   
“What?” Phryne couldn’t suss it out at first. “Oh, no, Mac! Our tea time!”   
“You forgot? What’s going on?” Mac was bemused. “I didn’t think you two had any new cases.”   
“I—We two?”   
Phryne could easily imagine the look on Mac’s face as she answered. “Oh, please don’t tell me you can’t work out who I’m talking about. What kind of a lady detective are you?”  
“Mac…why don’t you come here? We can have tea in the parlour.” Phryne suddenly wanted to have some private time with Mac.   
“Fine, I’ll see you shortly.” Mac hung up abruptly.   
She was as good as her word. It was not long before Mr. Butler was announcing, “Doctor MacMillan to see you, Miss.”   
Mac strode in and sat down at the small table that was laid with the tea service. “So! What’s going on that has you forgetting our tea?”   
Phryne frowned. “People have been talking to me,” she said cryptically.   
“Really? And what have they been talking about? And would any of these people be a certain Detective Inspector?”   
“No, they would not,” Phryne said softly. Mac picked up on it immediately, drawing a familiar, if erroneous, conclusion.   
“Oh, no. What have you done to him now? You know, I have to work with him; in fact, I like working with him. He’s one of the few decent policemen I’ve met; he not only has a brain, he actually uses it. I don’t need you coming along making a mess of things,” Mac huffed. “Really, Phryne, sometimes I wish you’d leave that poor man alone.”   
Moments passed. Mac waited for the retort, but it didn’t come. At last she asked, “What is going on, then? What’s got you on edge?”   
Phryne finally found her tongue. “You might be right, Mac.”   
“Of course I might. I often am. But—which part might be right?”   
“All of it.” Phryne put her teacup down in its saucer with a slight clatter. “Mac, I’m so sorry. I have a terrible headache. I’m afraid I’m not in the mood for tea after all. Will you excuse me, please?”   
To Mac’s utter amazement, Phryne stood and walked out of the parlour and went up the stairs. Mac picked up her cup, drained it, and put it back in its saucer, then walked out of the house. It wasn’t the first time her longtime friend had acted irrationally, and Mac doubted it would be the last. Better to just go along with it.

Some time later, Mr. Butler came to the door of the parlour to see if Miss Fisher and the doctor required anything, and he was astonished to find the room empty. He looked around the main floor of the house, then went up to Miss Fisher’s bedroom, and saw that the door was closed. He knocked gently. “Miss Fisher? Is everything all right?”   
He heard a distinct sniff before she answered, “Mr. Butler, I have a headache, and I need to be alone. I’m afraid I’m not up to seeing any visitors for the rest of the day.”  
He couldn’t help himself. “None, Miss?”   
“No. No one.”   
Mr. Butler walked down the stairs, pondering this turn of events. What could have gone so wrong, on a day that began so brightly? Would Miss Fisher change her mind? And if she did not, how was he to turn away the visitor who was bound to show up this evening?   
To his mind, Miss Fisher had become trapped in a maze of her own making. Mr. Butler had grown very fond of the Inspector, and cherished hope that he was the one who could set Miss Fisher free.   
Turning the Inspector away was not going to be pleasant, but he had his instructions.


	4. Jack

Evening came, and when he heard someone at the front door, Mr. Butler’s face fell. He didn’t look forward to what he must do.  
Just as Mr. Butler suspected, it was Inspector Robinson. “Good evening, Mr. Butler,” he said, a pleasant look on his face.  
Mr. Butler didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Good evening, Inspector. I—I’m afraid Miss Fisher isn’t receiving visitors tonight.”  
“No?” the Inspector asked. “What’s happened? Is she all right?”  
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Butler said flatly, still not meeting the Inspector’s eyes.  
“Where is she?”  
Giving it only a moment’s thought, Mr. Butler said with intention, “She is in her room, with strict instructions not to be disturbed.” If the Inspector was the man Mr. Butler thought he was…  
He was. He surprised Mr. Butler by moving him abruptly aside and charging down the hall and up the stairs, two at a time, managing to say as he did, “I’m sorry, Mr. Butler.”  
Mr. Butler’s usual agreeable expression returned. He had been sure all along that this man was the right one. He was rarely wrong.

Jack did take time to knock before entering, but opened the door before she could forbid him entrance. She was curled up on her bed, and her face and eyes were red, but she did manage to mutter, “So much for the faithful manservant.”  
“He did all he could to deter me. I took him by surprise.”  
Despite her unhappiness, Phryne’s lips turned slightly upward at the thought. “You ambushed Mr. Butler?”  
Jack smiled back his bit of a smile. He laid his coat and hat on a chair and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed, and she did not rebuff him. “I’ll make it up to him later. Now tell me what’s wrong.”  
Phryne swallowed hard. She wasn’t used to this—she’d been taking care of herself for too long. She was afraid to let herself give in to his gentleness, so she told him the unvarnished truth. “Everyone’s been talking to me today. Dot, Mac, Aunt Prudence, they all think I’m no good for you.”  
“What? You must have misunderstood.”  
“No. Dot disapproves. Mac told me not to make a mess of things.”  
Jack said intently, “Whatever happens is between us and no one else.” He took her hands in his. “So you thought that if you closed your doors to me, I’d just fade away?”  
Now she had an actual rueful smile. When had he ever let anything go without trying to talk about it? He had certainly disagreed with her; he had sometimes argued with her; even when they investigated Gertie’s death in the racecar, he had not walked away without telling her how he felt. “I’m not sure I thought it through at all. But maybe all these people are right--”  
He regarded her thoughtfully. “Hmm. All these people…I thought you weren’t bothered by that sort of thing. Have you decided to let decisions be made for you by others now?”  
Phryne straightened. “Certainly not!” she said with distaste.  
His eyes narrowed, and he looked piercingly at her. “Then don’t make mine for me,” he said, utterly serious.  
It was the last thing she had expected. She pursed her lips and said admiringly, “Very shrewd, Inspector.”  
“Thank you,” he smiled. “I have to be. It’s the company I keep.” 

In answer to that, Phryne said gravely, “It has also been suggested to me that you are not really my type.”  
“Of course I’m not.”  
“That doesn’t bother you?”  
“Not at all. You’re not my type either.”  
Phryne was caught off balance. “Well! I didn’t think I _was_ a ‘type’.”  
“Oh, you are.”  
“Is that so?”  
He gave her a sideways glance. “You’re a toff.”  
She was amused, despite herself. “I can’t help that.”  
“You’re a flapper.”  
“I don’t want to help that.”  
“You’re outrageous.”  
“And you don’t want me to help that.” Feeling much more herself, she accused, “What about you? You’re a policeman.”  
“I can’t deny that.”  
“And you try to protect me.”  
“I can’t deny that either—though it rarely works.”  
“And you’re a serious man.”  
“And you’re a serious woman.”  
“What?!” Phryne snorted.  
“Do you dispute it?” Jack asked.  
“Of course! Everyone knows I’m a will-o’-the-wisp, a social butterfly, the life of the party—”  
Jack held up one hand to interrupt. “An advocate for women’s rights, a protector of the innocent and the wronged, a woman who places high value on family—blood family, or otherwise.” Phryne was watching him with wonder on her face, and he asked, “Shall I go on?”  
“Is that really the way you see me?”  
“It’s really the way you are.”  
She reached up and stroked his cheek. “Some days, I think you’re the only one who knows that.” Slowly, she turned to take the watch off the nightstand. “I believe I have something of yours.”  
“I missed it all day. I thought you might bring it to me.”  
Phryne frowned. “I meant to do just that! Instead, I spent the day being talked to by people who made me unhappy.” Instead of handing him the watch, she held her hand out. He offered his wrist to her, and she carefully buckled the watch for him.  
He gave his wrist a shake, and glanced at the time. “You wound it.”  
A sly smile curled Phryne’s lips. “Well…It may have caused me a bit of trouble, but it’s something worth taking care of. I wouldn’t have wanted to risk it stopping.” A pleased smile crossed Jack’s face; her meaning was instantly clear to him.

Phryne exclaimed suddenly, “Oh, Jack! I’ve hardly eaten a thing all day, and I feel ravenous! Have you—oh, what a foolish question. Of course you haven’t. Why don’t you ask Mr. Butler to make us some supper, and I’ll change my clothes, and—”  
Jack smiled as she rattled off ideas about all the things they would do.


	5. Surprises

Having been given his assignment, Jack stepped briskly down the stairs, but he stopped halfway down the last flight.  
At the foot of the stairs stood Mr. Butler and Dot, with Hugh, who must have come by to take his wife home. They all stood looking up at the Inspector with worried looks on their faces.  
“Er—she’ll be down in a moment,” he said. “Oh, and Mr. Butler: she asked if you would put together a light supper.”  
“Yes, sir. And you’ll be joining her?” Mr. Butler asked in a tone that sounded a bit like a command.  
“Ah—yes, I will.” He stepped down to the bottom of the stairs. Mr. Butler headed for the kitchen, and Dot and Hugh looked nervously aside.  
“Erm—well, sir—it’s about time we were leaving,” Hugh said.  
Dottie nodded vigorously. “Yes. It’s late. We should be on our way.” She went to get her coat and purse.  
The Inspector and his Senior Constable stood in the hallway. The drollness of the entire situation overcame Jack; he treated Hugh to a rare smile, and clapped him on the arm. “Have a good night, Collins,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”  
Hugh was glad to have any potential embarrassment defused. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” Then, unable to stop himself once he got going, he added, “And you have a good night, too, sir.”  
Dot reappeared at just that moment, and sent Hugh an exasperated glance. Realizing that it would have been far better to avoid referring to any plans the Inspector might have for the night, Hugh started to stammer, but Jack simply answered, “Thank you, Collins.”  
Dottie smiled weakly, and grabbed Hugh’s arm to pull him through the door before he could say any more.

Jack wandered into the parlour. Mr. Butler found him looking out the large window, lost in thought. Mr. Butler asked quite properly if he might bring the Inspector a drink, and Jack agreed. Mr. Butler was just returning with that drink when Miss Fisher skipped down the stairs, dressed and refreshed and with a sparkle in her eyes.  
“Oh, Mr. Butler, I’ll have one of those, too,” she said brightly.  
“I have it right here, Miss.” He handed it to her, then appraised the two people in the parlour. The Inspector stood calmly, waiting for her to join him when she was ready; Miss Fisher, past her earlier unhappiness, came to stand face to face with him, ready for whatever came next.  
Phryne thanked Mr. Butler for the drink. “And I have prepared a light meal,” he said. Miss Fisher led the Inspector through to the dining room, which was gently lit and whose table was filled with delights, not the least of which were ham and mustard pickle sandwiches. Jack took his usual place at the table, adjacent to Phryne.  
“I think Mr. Butler is sending you a message with these sandwiches,” she suggested.  
“Hmm. Even after I rushed him in the hallway!” Jack laughed.  
“Quite a feat,” Phryne marvelled. “Jack, once again you prove that you are full of surprises.”  
“That’s not easy to keep up. What happens when I run out of surprises?” It wasn’t the first time he had thought of this.  
Phryne’s eyes went soft. “Oh, I expect we’ll both be old and grey, and tired of surprises by then.”  
Her answer was the best surprise of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An admission from pulpriter: This piece would not let me go. I couldn’t get it to work, so I cut out the first two chapters, named them Unnerved, and posted them. Then, thinking Unnerved felt Unfinished, I wrote a new piece and called it The Next Morning, posting it as a companion piece. But I couldn’t let the original idea go, and I tried again. So: here is the remainder of what Unnerved was meant to be, whether anybody but me wants it or not. If you wish, you can read Unnerved and then this one as a continuation; or stick to Unnerved and The Next Morning, if you prefer. Sort of like Choose Your Own Adventure. :-P  
> Let me know if you like having another ending to Unnerved! 
> 
> P.S. I posted my first fanfic just about one year ago. What a lot of fun it’s been! Thanks to all my gentle readers.


End file.
